


Extraordinaire

by hiberniaa



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual OFC, Crisis of Faith, Gen, Historically Inaccurate, Light Angst, Morality, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Rating May Change, Strong Language, playing fast and loose with the rdr2 characters and timeline, possible friends to lovers, the gang's all here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 09:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20544218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiberniaa/pseuds/hiberniaa
Summary: Elizabeth Duval has been many things to many people, drifting through the years rather than living them.Liz is a liability, taken in by the Van der Linde gang and running from a mistake in Valentine. She learns who her friends are, feels appreciated, seen. Real. But what's the catch?Oh, any outlaw will tell you. It's a slippery slope from Robin Hood to cold-blooded killing.





	1. Enter, Pursued by a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my first foray into fic on ao3!  
I'm hoping to update this fic fairly regularly if it gets any response. the idea is: the end of rdr2 upset me a whole lot and I was like guess I'll rewrite the timeline to fit my desires :)  
drop a comment, give some kudos/feedback and let me know how you feel about this fic! 
> 
> much love,  
hiberniaa

Dusty air filtered in through cracks in the windows. Valentine this time of year was warm, and despite her low-cut blouse, the heat was beginning to get to her. The saloon was full, despite the sun barely having crawled beyond its zenith in the middle of the sky. It was an hour after noon and the patrons were already trolleyed. Side effect of living in a miserably muddy excuse for a town, she supposed.

  
Elizabeth Duval waved her fan lazily, tilting her head, straining to catch the breeze that occasionally drifted through gaps in the panes of glass. A slight sheen lay over her forehead. One tanned hand grasped her fan, the other resting in her lap. Slurred voices, arguing to her right. She gazed warily in the direction of the talk, fist clenching in the faded olive fabric of her skirt and her brow furrowed over her dark eyes. Some idiots still objected to a woman like her being allowed to sit in the snug, and not because of her job. People didn't take too kindly to folks of mixed parentage 'round these parts. Or _any_ part Liz had encountered, for that matter. Thankfully, the commotion had nothing to do with her... this time.

The barman was attempting to calm down what was clearly a disagreement brewing between patrons... all heated glares and raising voices as the men squared up to one another, jostling and snapping like dogs. Liz had learned to tune the bluster of men out by now. Fellas drunk at the saloon. Fellas got into fights at the saloon. That's how it went. And hopefully, today, it would go in her favour.

  
Hopefully.

  
What Liz did to make a living- well, it wasn't the most glamourous job in the world. Plenty of close shaves and nasty situations.  
Some days it brought a satisfied smile to her face. Other days, not so much.

To the town, the saloon and its patrons, she and her friends were prostitutes. In actuality, they were pickpockets and excellent sneakthieves, if Liz did say so herself. Whoring simply did not make enough cash anywhere, and most certainly not in the backwater cattle town of Valentine, so pickpocketing drunk men and cutting out the middleman of lying on one's back seemed the natural route to a quick buck. How else was she gonna make money? She had no rich relatives, no schooling, and of course, being of mixed race in the South meant her opportunities lay thin on the ground.

_A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do_, she thought to herself. Her current profession had never been her life's aspiration, but then again, who ever did make a life worth living out of their aspirations?

Meanwhile, the argument among the men began to escalate, interrupting her ruminations. Around Elizabeth, the customers shifted uncomfortably. The atmosphere in the close little bar heralded violence. She stood, and wandered closer to the piano. Another woman, similarly dressed but for a blue skirt and lower neckline, rested her arms on it. A few other girls drifted about the tables here- her colleagues, if you like. She leaned in over the piano, and nodded benignly to the old coot banging on the keys. The lady grinned as she approached.

  
"Afternoon, Liz."

  
Liz smiled widely back. "Hiya, Miss Ruth." She did like Ruth.

Irina in the yellow blouse and fan fluttered at Liz from across the room. One of the angrier men from the group bumped her shoulder and Irina went stumbling, almost to her knees. The man (a much older man, Liz noted) merely slapped her ass and laughed. Irina smiled tightly in response. Ruth caught Liz's eye then, toying with a strawberry curl that brushed her collarbone.

  
"See anyone?"

  
Liz's gaze tracked around the room, eyeing a few potential candidates.

  
"Hmm. I'd say the guys in the corner playing poker", she gestured to the table near the stairs- "and in a couple of hours, the fellas arguing might be good catches."

  
"Thanks," Ruth responded, then frowned. "Some a' them are new," she noted.

  
Liz squinted across the room, rubbing surreptitiously at the slight moisture on her neck. "Really? I ain't noticed.." She turned her head toward the men. "Wait- yep, I see 'em. They look.. rugged."

Ruth snorted, poking Liz's arm. "What, you see somethin' you like?".

"No! No, I meant they're hard-lookin'. Not from round here, anyhow." 

Ruth bit at her lower lip. It was pink, and full. "They sure ain't," she mumbled. "Think I could bring up the cost? Four to six?"

"Well I think you could be careful for once!" Liz snapped. "If those idiots catch you takin' their valuables, they'll kill you for sure."

Ruth raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. Just continued fanning her prominent décolletage.

" 'M sorry," Liz muttered after a second.

"Yeah, yeah," Ruth dismissed. "I know. Ya worry too much. Just keep watchin' em and maybe bring a couple up to me later, huh?" Ruth patted her cheek and Liz rolled her eyes.

"Some of them are pretty. 'Specially that one." She pointed out one guy in particular, and Liz peered over.

Broad, tall, tough, a couple days worth of stubble on his face. Hunting jacket, dusty boots, worn hat, bandana on his neck.. the whole nine yards. Screamed 'out-of-town', but he was nothing to scream about. Well, not to Liz, anyway. The man turned his head suddenly, catching Ruth's eye. Like he knew he was being watched. Ruth smiled winningly and he rolled his shoulders, resting his hands on his gunbelt.

"Dammit. Tough one to crack," she murmured, before sashaying off to seduce another poor unfortunate.

Ruth had naturally mastered that perfect hip-sway that got every man to follow her moves. It'd taken Liz years to get it, probably on account of that stupid tight corset she had to wear. It gave the impression of an hourglass figure, or something. Without it she was rather straight in body shape, and that was unattractive to the lice passing as men in this town, apparently. Liz pushed a stray black curl behind her ear and stepped up to the bar, waving the barman over. The bar's patrons, not including the new fellas, were moderately drunk. She needed those new folk to be drunk. She depended on it.  
If she could get one or two upstairs there'd be no telling what kind of valuable trinkets they might carry. She leaned over the bar and tried to charm the barman. She persuaded him as best she could to lower the price of those men's drinks (a trick the other ladies used to get certain folk drunk faster), and he begrudgingly agreed.

She crossed back over the floor, settling once more in the snug.. and so the waiting game began.  
She could work with that.

-

The saloon became louder and rowdier as the afternoon crawled into night. The long game was taking a little longer than she had anticipated. She was playing for the young feller; youth usually meant naivety, and naivety aided those in Liz's line of work. She was on her break, having successfully robbed three idiots blind without getting any drunkard's vomit down her blouse or having to hitch up her skirts. Hitching up her skirts was tolerable from time to time, but the vomit?

She'd pass. 

Leaning out one of the windows on the top floor, she shuddered at the recollection of a meeting a couple years back, with one particular man who couldn't hold his rum to save his life. The evening air was cool and teased at her neck, lessening the effect of the saloon's stuffy heat. Downstairs, the gang who were causing all the ruckus earlier had dissipated to just a few members- a fresh-faced dark youth, a handsome Hispanic fella in a poncho, and the brickfaced one Ruth had flirted at earlier. All of them seemed moderately inebriated, and they were laughing loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Now might be her only chance.

Elizabeth crossed the landing, leaning out over the balcony to glance down at the group. Irina was whispering into the poncho-wearer's ear and running her hands over his shoulders. He was responding in a low tone. Liz watched, eerily fascinated by how easily Irina could just do that, get them hooked with a word or a smile. An odd, twisting feeling rose in her stomach as the memories of being taught how to flirt jumped to the fore of her mind. How she had practiced her craft on men twice her age back when she was hardly more than a girl herself. Twenty-nine... no, thirty now, and still felt that creeping fear of drunk men and dark bedchambers now and then.

She pushed her hair back from where it clung to her forehead and put her weight on the banister, seeing Irina take the man's arm and lead him away, stuffing a wad of cash quickly into her blouse. She passed Liz on the stairs, and Liz gave her a tiny smile. Irina nodded back, then called to her customer.

"C'mon, honey, I ain't got all night!" she teased, dancing away down the hall.

The man followed after her, turning back to salute his companions before disappearing into the guestroom after her.

A blue skirt swished into Liz's vision, and Ruth appeared at her shoulder. Ruth tugged Liz's blouse back into place and neatened up her braid. Liz grunted at the painful hair adjustment and swatted Ruth's hand away.

"What's goin' on?" she asked, pushing Ruth's arms away from her when they reached again for her corset.

Ruth scowled and satisfied herself by tucking a final coil of inky black hair behind Liz's ear.

"You've got a guest for this evening. The mean-lookin' one. I got the young guy" Ruth explained, straighening up her own corset.

Liz groaned. "Ruth, I'm on my break. And how come you get the cute young one and I get the stone-faced bastard, anyway? I swear, I ain't gonna even try takin' his money if he pulls a gun. It's my new 'not getting shot on the job' policy," she complained, eyes flickering to where the pair of remaining men sat.

The young guy's leg was jogging impatiently, whereas the older fella could'nt've looked more bored. The dark kid nudged him and nodded to the ladies. He glanced up from under his hat, and Liz caught his eye. She gave a little wave. No smile, no acknowledgement, just the same damn scowl. Annoying prick.

Why, why, _why_ did Ruth get the kid? Elizabeth sighed and faced Ruth.

"If I try to steal his pocketwatch, he will skin me, Ruth."

"Liz. Please." Ruth appealed, giving Liz those big, wide green eyes.

Liz threw her hands in the air, then ran them over her black hair. She was a sucker for a pretty face. "Fine! Fine, I'll- I'll do it. How much is he givin'?"

Ruth winced. "Well, his friend paid. You know the one Irina went with...?" She quickly handed Liz the crumpled bills.

"Oh, for the love of G- okay, Ruth, you gotta stop doin' this to me, alright? Because I just got my first break in hours and-" Liz groaned irately, tugging at her skirt. "Damn it, now I gotta waste my sweet time tryin' to get that fella to ignore me stealin' his cash, and hopefully avoid bein' knifed in the process! Don't you know how damn hard that is? I- I'm not captivatin' like you, that's why I wanted the young one!"

"I'm captivatin'?" Ruth teased.

"Oh, shut up!"

"Just say you love me already, Liz," Ruth jibed, already strolling away.

And just like that, she disappeared. Gone, deserting Liz, leaving her to her fate, throwing her to the snapping wolves.

Liz scowled, muttering darkly to herself. She smoothed down her skirt. Took a deep breath, fiddling a moment with the small silver chain around her wrist. Counting the links was an anxious habit, and it managed to settle her nerves a little as she returned to the main bar. Descending the stairs, she paused at the bottom step, glancing over to the gang's table. He sat with his hands folded over his belt buckle. His hat lay on the poker table in front of him, and he and his pal- a friend of his? An accomplice?- exchanged a few words before turned to face her.

Liz bit the inside of her cheek at having been caught studying them, and she cleared her throat, pointedly looking away. The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his actions mirroring hers. So far, not ideal. Not ideal at all. He didn't seem as aggressive now, more awkward really than anything else. This small change in his expression gave Liz the courage to approach the two. She fixed a smile on her face, and forced herself saunter across the dusty floor to their table.

"I believe you and I have an appointment, mister," she said, looking at him from under her eyelashes.

The youth grinned and the man shifted in his seat once more. Elizabeth waited.

"It seems we do," the man finally responded.

He spoke gruffly with a deep, husky drawl, addressing his answer more to the wall over Liz's left shoulder than to Liz herself. She felt sudden, unfamiliar sadness for this stranger. He really, really, did not want to accompany her, or anyone, upstairs. She could understand that completely. To Liz, it was a man's arrogance or cruelty that justified her liberation of his valuables. Though this feller had a face like a wall, he didn't seem arrogant or cruel. So far. However, money was money, and God did Liz need money.

No matter how sorrowful she felt afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this chapter! I was super nervous about putting it up but eh, we're here now.  
to be continued...
> 
> much love,  
hiberniaa xx


	2. Chance Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long game didn't go exactly as Liz had hoped. Ruth has booked her an appointment with a seemingly unsavoury character, and it's delivering unfamiliar stingings of a long-lost conscience.

With every step closer to the room, Liz cursed louder inside. As she opened the door, the smile dropped from her face. 

It was small and dimly lit by oil lamps; all faded wallpaper, dusty dark wood furniture. Against the back wall stood the narrow, unwelcoming bed.

Liz buried herself loosening her corset and dropping the neckline of her top, distracting herself from what was to come. Movement in the mirror above the drawers caught her attention. The man approached, lingering just outside the door. When Liz looked up, he set his jaw.

"Sorry 'bout this," he apologised. "I'm, uh.. I haven't.."

He cleared his throat and started again.

"Haven't done this in a while."

He shook his head, and stepped into the small bedroom. Unprompted, he moved methodically, removing his jacket. A leather satchel was placed on the same coathook as the jacket, hanged just so. He unbuckled his gunbelt and laid it carefully atop the dark wood setee. Last was his hat, revealing suprisingly clean and neat dark blonde hair. She hadn't noticed it before. The hat joined the gunbelt, and he hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and stood there.  
Watching to see what she'd do. That guilt again. It was odd; for her, thieving didn't usually result in a morality crisis.

Liz wasn't the sort to have pity for people. Usually, some way or another, people manage to get themselves into their own shitty postitions- and then they bitched about it like it wasn't their fault. That was life, or so went Liz's own outlook on it. Pity couldn't fix a thing, and it damn well didn't help anybody in a poor state. She knew that firsthand.  
Even so, Liz felt the beginnings of it twist in her belly.  
This strange man truly did not want to be stood in this miserable excuse for a guest room with her, and the idea made her.. uncomfortable.

_Just do it_, she thought. Payment awaits.

Yeah. The payment.  
The meagre takings from pretending to lift her skirts. When was she gonna get enough of it to leave this shithole and move on? To do something she really wanted to, like gardening maybe, or fishing. Liz liked fishing, or maybe she could even do music, the girls said she had a sweet voice-

"Ma'am?"

Liz flinched, blinking to rouse herself. She realised that she had been staring blankly at the man through the mirror for about a minute. _Good job_.  
  
"Yes, of course."

She turned away from the reflection and faced him, forcing a coy smile to rise on her face.

"What do you need, honey?" she purred, stepping closer to the man. Hoping, _praying_ to spot a way to snatch his satchel from the door and get it all over with.

He took a half-step back. Jesus Christ, even tipsy this guy was wary. He was like a caged animal. The man swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes.

Liz sighed through her nose and planted her hands on her hips. She knew she wasn't a saint, but something inside urged her to help this man. Her conscience, maybe?...No, her gut. It told her that this stranger could be her ticket out, if she just helped him once. Once, and maybe she'd never have to work here again. She was tired of stealing and lying, tired of the fear that tempered her every move. Something sparked in her mind.  
She wanted to be free.

"Look, mister, God knows I don't usually ask this, but.. are you alright? You look a little green 'round the gills and I can't take your money in good conscience if you keel over. There'd be no challenge in it," Liz explained.

"Who, me?," he asked in that drawl. As if there was someone else in the room who she could possibly ask. "Naw, I'm- I'm fine."

Liz stepped closer to him, and he didn't step back this time. He stood stock still and continued to avoid her gaze. She deliberately caught his eye and he cleared his throat again. His eyes were blue. Something else she hadn't noticed.

"Really? That's what you're goin' with? That you're fine?"

He didn't respond. The uncomfortable mixture of guilt and pity thrashing in Liz's belly pushed words of reassurance to her tongue. She swallowed them, and looked the man over.

"What's your name, mister?" she asked. "I'd like to know if you don't mind."

He hesitated a second, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. "Name's Arthur," he finally responded. "Arthur Callahan."

"Well, Arthur," Liz began, crossing her arms. "I'm not gonna sleep with you." Of course, it had never been her plan to, but he didn't need to know that.

Arthur frowned, his stoic mask broken, and suddenly Liz was unsure. She forced herself not to backtrack, folding her arms and tapping her fingers on her elbows instead.

"I don't understand. You ain't gonna- well, you know?" Arthur sounded more confused than irritated. "Did I do somethin'?"

Liz exhaled suddenly in relief. "Nah, you didn't. I just gotta feeling that.." she struggled for the words, "..it ain't what you want. And since you're payin' me, it's in my best interests to do what you want."

Arthur nodded, digesting her statement. "Awright."

Liz patted his shoulder and he didn't flinch away. "What'd'ya say I get you a drink, and we... I dunno, talk instead?"

He grunted. "A drink sounds good. But I ain't one for talkin'."

"You don't gotta."

Arthur took a breath, appearing to think it over. He shot a glance at her. Liz held her ground. He gave a shrug, and finally, finally, Liz relaxed.  
"Sure. Let's get that drink."

-

Javier was quite surprised to see Arthur at their table by the time he himself had.. well, finished. That lady- Irina- was damn good at her job.

He strolled down to the bar and sat himself next to Morgan without saying a word. Didn't ask anything, didn't enquire, just sat there.  
Ten seconds went by. Twenty, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Thirty passed.

"Awright, would you just say whatever you're gonna say to me?"

"Wasn't gonna say anything, mi amigo."

"I didn't ask for ya to hire a goddamn whore, Escuela, and I didn't waste yer damn money neither," Morgan burst out.  
"'M gettin' a drink from the girl because, well, I don't want to catch nothin'."

"Woah there," Javier said, raising his palms in a placative gesture. "What's wrong with you, huh? I don't care what you do or don't do, man. It ain't none of my business."

"Sorry, Javier. Jus' didn't want ya to think I was wastin' money."

The other man shrugged. "It wasn't my money anyway."

Arthur decided not to comment, but sighed all the same. Javier didn't miss the sigh.  
He leaned forward.

"Something bothering you, Morgan? You been actin' a little.. different lately."

"It ain't nothin', Javier," Arthur replied. "Ain't nothin'," he repeated, almost to himself.

"It's gotta be something, Arthur. This.. attitude ain't like you."

The saloon was stuffy, and Arthur adjusted his shirt before he spoke.

"It's the gang, Javier. I know you're loyal, and so am I, 'course I am, but I'm havin'... doubts. I ain't sure what I'm doin' nor where I'm goin' anymore. I feel like- like we lost more than just that money, like we lost our way comin' out of Blackwater. And Dutch-"

The working girl appeared at the table with drinks, apparently not having noticed Javier and the private conversation.

"Didn't know what'ya wanted, so I just..."

She noticed Javier.

"...just got two beers," she finished. Javier glanced up at her amusedly.

"You must be the fella who paid me this evenin'," she said.

"That's me," Javier responded evenly.

"Well, I assume you want a drink too?" she asked, something far too calculating in her eyes for his liking. Reminded him a little of Abigail.

"Single shot of whisky," Javier told her.

"Perfect," she replied. "Bar's right over there."

_Nice one_, he thought. Certainly smarter than she looked. He left his seat next to Morgan, and she slipped into it.

"Thanks," Arthur muttered when Liz passed him his bottle.

"No problem."

They cracked open their beers. Arthur slugged his like a man dying of thirst, while Liz nursed her bottle between her hands. He set it down on the table, wiping his hand over his mouth. A moment passed. Liz just stared into her bottle while he gazed around the saloon.

"When'd you start workin' here, anyway?"

She started, caught off-guard by the question.

"Thought you didn't wanna talk?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'm curious."

"When I was... fourteen, I think. At first it was just waitin' tables. But then my mama got sick so I had to start makin' real money, you know? There was only one way to do that, so sixteen years later, here I am still."

Arthur frowned, doing the mental arithmetic. "You're.. thirty?"

"Yep," Liz smiled without humour.

"You don' even look twenty. Jesus."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Liz replied, knocking back her beer. There was companionable silence for a moment, broken only by occasional laughter and strains of music from the people around them.

"Fourteen is young to start a life like mine," she added suddenly.

"Sure is," Arthur said, somewhat confused. "It's hard out there."

Liz considered this, chewing something over. She stared still down the neck of her bottle, as though the answers she sought were written there.  
"Must've been tough for you too, huh?"

"Excuse me?"

Liz shrugged. "From the look you got, I think you grew up rough too. And you don't like people seein' it, either... come to think of it, why'd you tell me your name was Callahan?"

"What?"

"Well, your friend there," she gestured to the bar, "called you Morgan. I overheard a little of your chat."

Arthur grunted noncomittally. "I got my reasons."

"What?" Liz snorted. "A little bit of anonymity doesn' bother me, but what could you possibly have to hide?"

He was silent. A trickle of tension found its way to nest in her stomach. Maybe her hunch had been wrong.

"You boys bad news? A gang or somethin'?" Liz joked uneasily.

The stony look that descended over her companion's face unnerved her. She remembered, suddenly, that he had mentioned a gang. A gang, and Blackwater. Some unknown, important information swam on the edge of her mind and she strained to reach it. There had been news about a gang in Blackwater, but which gang? And what did that have to do with him?  
A flicker of recollection, and suddenly the feller opposite her was looking a whole lot more familiar... well. Maybe it was just her imagination-

"I don't recall that bein' any of your business, woman."

Liz's eyes narrowed dangerously.  
_Woman_.  
That simplified things. Any curiosity she felt vanished; with one small put-down Arthur had managed to prove himself the very same as every other man she'd ever had the displeasure of meeting.  
Years of being disrespected, looked down on, threatened, beaten, and ripped off seemed to break over Liz in that insant, like roaring waves on a calm sea.

"I do recall telling you that I have a name, and telling you exactly what that name was, mister. You don't care for my small talk? Fine."

Liz was angry, as pissed as she'd ever been, but also strangely calm. This was unlike her- she was usually the first to start cussing, throwing punches and pulling a bitch's hair if she had to. Not this time. She stood.

"But you use my damn name, since you can't have the courtesy to tell me yours honestly. I reckon the law 'round here'd be very interested to know about what I heard."

"So you're goin' to the law, then."

Arthur's jaw clenched, anger biting around his tone. Liz brushed down her skirt, and reached into her bodice. His glare was icy- until she drew out the crumpled four bucks and slammed them down on the table in front of him.

"Last time I take your damn money, _cabrón_," she snarled, turning around... and walking straight into the friend of his from earlier. Shit. He blocked her way, almost nonchalant.

"We got a problem here, Arthur?" he asked lightly, a hint of menace in his voice.

"No problem, Javier," Arthur responded, and Liz felt some traitorous relief creep onto her face. "Just some curious folk, is all."  
Javier nodded, facing Liz. "Right," he responded, "curiosity ain't against the law."

Arthur looked back at Liz, his gaze scrutinizing. "No, it sure ain't. But what's that, uh, that phrase go like? A cat, or somethin'?"

Liz went cold.

"I don't know, man. It's too warm in here," Javier said suddenly, adjusting his poncho. Fear gripped Liz's throat and wouldn't let go.  
From the folds of the fabric glinted a mean-looking revolver.  
She wasn't particularly knowledgeable on guns, but from the gleam of the handle she could tell that it was kept religiously in fine working order. Arthur mirrored the same surreptitious movement, and a hunting knife winked at her from inside his jacket.  
Liz had seen some fellas before who waved their weapons around like toys, trying to scare her.

Boys like that had never shaken her, but somehow the way these men so casually handled theirs... Liz always carried her own weapon, strapped to her thigh. It was prudent to do so in her line of work. But her little razor compared to that revolver? That hunting knife? Liz's knees didn't want to hold her up anymore, but anger lent her the strength, and she forced herself to stand straighter.

"Alright!" she snapped, irritation hiding the tremble in her voice. "Message received. Loud and clear. I'll stop askin' questions, but can't you put the guns away? You're gonna scare off my pay for tonight if you use them damn things."

Arthur gave her that stony face again, making no move to stow the hunting knife. Javier casually took a hold of her wrist, grip just tight enough to cause discomfort.  
Liz was sure that this was it- she'd pushed it too far and they were going to hurt her. The tension in the air grew, thickened, until her whole world shrank down to just this table and just these men. Time slowed down, and horror made her nauseous. She was going to be killed, or at the very least, maimed into silence by these men and there wasn't a thing she could say or do or-

A sudden, piercing scream from above broke the moment. Liz froze. She knew that voice, knew the sound, knew the throat it had ripped itself from in fearful agony.

"Irina," she breathed. A new kind of coldness, a different kind, stole over her insides and the terror ebbed away. The saloon went quiet for a moment, until some drunken idiot fell and broke his glass and the patrons turned to laugh. Chatter resumed and the music began again.

"You have to let me go. Let me go!" Liz hissed to Javier and Arthur, looking around frantically for the source of the scream. It was upstairs, that much she knew. But Irina had just finished with Javier, so what could she be so terrified of?  
Thumping and scraping from above, unnoticed by the saloon. A yell.  
Where the hell was Ruth? God, Ruth was there too-

"We don't have to do anything, sweetheart," Javier responded, still gripping her wrist. Liz tried yanking her arm out of his grip, but had her wrist twisted in response.  
"Play nice," Arthur said, "and we might let you off."

Rage and shame brought heat to her face. Being caught in a powerless position was not appealing to Liz at all; she loathed feeling weak. The embarrassment fed into her worry about Irina and Ruth. A dull thud from the guest rooms.  
She was going to have to beg. Beg them to let her go help. Liz swallowed hard.

"Please," Liz implored. "My friend, the one who worked with you, mister, she's up there with another and your friend, and I heard her scream, you gotta have heard it too, I know you did, I gotta help her-" Liz gasped for breath, struggling harder still.

"You're not moving," Javier muttered, tightening his hold on her. "Arthur, what do we do? She said the girls are still upstairs are with Lenny, and if there's something going on-"

"Please! She could be hurt, they might kill her or- or worse, please, I won't tell anybody nothin'!" Liz pled.

Arthur groaned, conflicted, rubbing a hand over his face.  
"Fine, let her go and let's go find Lenny," he snapped, getting to his feet. Javier relinquished his grip on Liz's wrist and she massaged it, trying to get the blood flow back into it. A scowl knitted her brow at his lack of tact.  
He went to join Arthur.

"Wait!" Liz cried. "I want to help-"  
She reached past her skirts. Both of them cringed before she drew the shiny little blade out from under them.

Javier grinned mirthlessly. "You're stayin' down here."

"Like hell I am, cowboy," she snarled in response. "We don't have the damn time to argue."

She swerved past Javier and Arthur, took the lead up the stairs and tried to stay unnoticed. Casual. But a few people were watching. If this went bad..  
Liz walked as normally and as airily as she could across the landing, uncomfortably aware of the men following her with fingers itching to pull triggers. She swallowed hard, heading to the rooms. Listening just outside each one.  
Her hand trailed along the wall between the doors, feeling every scratch and indent from years of service.  
From inside the last door Liz heard raised voices, and paused. An angry man. An angry drunk man- and Irina. She couldn't hear the words, but she could hear Irina's pleading and the man's bluster, getting louder and more slurred. Another voice (Lenny?) was bargaining in a lower tone. Where the hell was Ruth?

Liz gestured to Arthur and Javier, motioning for them to approach. The odd trio hid against the wall. The landing had thankfully quietened down; everyone below was too drunk to notice what was happening. Arthur crept around to the far side of the door, nodding to Javier to join him. There they waited, silent, focused, deadly. Liz shifted from foot to foot and palmed the chain on her wrist again. Arthur and Javier stood half-crouched, their hands hovering over where she knew guns and knives were concealed. Liz's own little blade winked in her hand when she caught up to them, falling into the same position. Javier glanced at her, then at Arthur. They looked her up and down, and Liz tried to look confident and in control. Arthur sighed through his nose. Tough crowd. She scrunched up her face at them in response, readjusting her grip on the knife. She attempted to conceal her blush by creeping past them closer to the door.

The floorboard outside the door creaked and Liz froze. The argument inside faltered.

"Damn it," Arthur muttered, yanking his revolver from under his jacket.

Javier flanked him. He shoved Liz aside and cocked his gun, aiming, reaching for the handle-

BANG.

The door flew open, hitting the wall right next to Liz's head. She yelped and scrambled back, watching Ruth stagger out of the room and fall to the floor a few feet from her. Ruth didn't get up, and Liz stifled a cry with her fist, eyes widening over her clenched fingers. Javier retreated quickly to level with Liz's position and startled her back into action. She stared at him, waiting for an explanation, and he nodded towards the room. The drunk stumbled out, cursing and hollering loud enough for the whole street to hear. He brandished a rusty Cattleman, and tugged someone out of the room after him. Irina. He was an older fellow with ratty, dusty workclothes and a moustache as oily as his bald and lined head.

"If'y'don't let me outta here with my money an' this woman," he slurred, "I'll- I'll"

He gagged suddenly, cutting himself off, holding back his liquor. Irina's hair was unkempt and her eyes darted around desperately. Her face was bone-white and the skin around her neck was purpling. Revulsion filled Liz. Had he..?

The drunk seized Irina more tightly, locking his bony arm around her bruised throat, and he pressed the barrel to her temple. Liz reached blindly and caught Javier's arm, digging her fingers into the material of his shirt.

"I'll blow her damn brains out an' then I'll shoot myself!" he shrieked, swaying on the spot.

Irina struggled weakly against his grasp, gasping for breath behind his grip. Liz searched for Arthur and spotted him in the shadow to the left of the drunk. He gave her and Javier a pointed look and holstered his gun. Liz carefully replaced her knife. Javier's weapon retreated back to his side. Arthur stepped out in front of the greasy weasel, raising his hands in a gesture of truce. Javier and Liz mirrored his actions. The bastard just mumbled something to himself, his dull gaze flicking between the three of them. Javier took a tentative half-step forward and the gun clicked at Irina's temple. Silent tears tracked down Irina's face. She closed her eyes.

"Do something, you moron!" Liz hissed to Arthur. He glared briefly at her, like _what-do-you-think-I'm-doing_, then slowly, slowly, faced the drunk idiot. It was hot in here, Liz noted, and a bead of perspiration trickled down her neck. She let it, too afraid to move and brush it away. Too afraid. Too weak. Whether she liked it or not, her survival now depended on the two criminals she had just met.

Liz decided she definitely did not like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooray!! arthur has appeared!! along with lenny and javier!!  
this chapter.. man, I had to edit it so much. you know those ones where you work for ages and by the end youre still unsatisfied? yeah. this was one of those. but I decided to say fuck it and post it anyway.  
so fuck it indeed, and here you go!
> 
> leave kudos, leave a comment and lmk what you think :)


	3. Adrenaline Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every so often, people make snap decisions that change their lives.  
This is one of those decisions.

Arthur cleared his throat, faced the drunkard. "Come on, buddy, let's talk about this," he said, his voice warm like the fella was an old friend.

_Maybe they are_, a snide voice in Liz's mind commented. _They're outlaws. Criminals. _

"I don' wanna talk! Yer gonna- gonna turn me in!" the old fella spat. Reasoning, it would seem, was pointless.

"What's your name, my friend?" Javier said.

The man bared his teeth, spittle dribbling down his chin. Some landed on Irina's cheek and she gave a quiet whimper.

"Whitty."

From somewhere on the floor, Liz heard a moan. Ruth stirred, trying to push herself up to her knees. The gun flipped from Irina's temple to aiming at Ruth and Whitty's grip on her throat slackened. Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Javier's fists clenching and unclenching.

"Please, Whitty, is this really necessary?" Arthur attempted. He was visibly uncomfortable now, shifting from foot to foot. His voice rose into bargaining, buying time, stalling the drunk. She was hardly listening.

Something hard thudded into Liz's side. Javier had just elbowed her. "You see Lenny anywhere?"

Liz cast her eye over the scene, trying her best to be inconspicuous.

"Damn it," she muttered. "No."

"Gimme just one reason to pull this damn trigger an' I will!"

Irina began to squirm once again, beating on the fucker's arm in a vain attempt to make him let go. The man's face was contorted by fury and drink, set a-glistening by the sheen of sweat and the low lights of the landing.

Ruth moaned again, getting to her knees. She stared at Liz as her eyes refocused.

"Wha's happening?"

From somewhere inside the room, a figure slammed into the fella, knocking both him and Irina flying. Irina scrambled away with a shriek. Just in time before Whitty sprawled onto the floorboards, apparently incapacitated.

Arthur and Javier relaxed their stances. Liz fell to her knees beside Irina, wrapped her in a hug. Ruth joined them, nursing her head.

"You okay?" she asked Irina. Irina just nodded. "Fine." Her voice was hoarse.

"Where the hell were you, kid?" Arthur asked, clapping Lenny on the shoulder.

Lenny was breathing heavily, grasping his side, and he winced where Arthur touched him. Liz looked up, tightening her arm round Irina's shoulders.

"Got caught up," he gasped. "Heard a commotion up here, went to see what was happenin'... then," he panted, straightening up. "That bastard jumped me before I knew which way was up!"

"Jesus," Ruth said under her breath. "Ugly feller."

She nudged Whitty with her foot, grimacing disgustedly and Liz slapped at her arm.

"Leave him be-"

Liz saw what was happening before it did. Whitty fumbled for the rusted gun. Aimed above her head, above Irina's and Ruth's.

Shaking hands cocked it and fired, determined to kill at least one of their number.

Liz had never cared about any life above hers and her mama's, so years on from this moment, she couldn't quite decipher what had driven her to do what she did.

These men? They didn't care about her. Didn't care about any of them. And in doing what she did, she condemned herself to follow the life they led.

Maybe she always had been condemned.

And so, many things happened at once, in that split second before the gunshot rang out. She shoved Javier to the ground at the knee and he fell.

The bullet burrowed white-hot into Liz's shoulder. Before everything swam away, faded to black, she sent her little knife true through Whitty's throat.

She slumped onto her back, and was still.

-

Hours later (days? who knew?) Liz became dimly aware of shadows playing on the ground, from horseback. And someone was screaming in pain- muffled screaming.

She tasted dirty cloth. It filled her mouth. 

Oh, right. It was her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's get this going in the next chapter, gamers. action is on the way. liz is asking too many questions. arthur is uncomfy.  
hope y'all enjoyed this one!  
as always, comment/bookmark/kudos, leave constructive criticism, whatever you wanna do... just let me know what you think, god damnit!


	4. Restart, Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything you thought you knew vanishes, what do you do?  
Sometimes we want to start over and try again, and it hurts because we can't choose to.  
But what happens when the choice is made for you?

She woke.

Leaves whispered in the soft breeze somewhere overhead. All around her was the commotion of people working- someone chopped food and whistled, someone else hacked at logs with a grunt, and a group of women sang merrily. Just under the babble of people, strains of opera music played from a crackling gramophone. A child giggled nearby. Animals clucked, snorted and stamped. From behind her, she heard the sharp rebuke of an older woman break up the chatter, cracking like a whip over the murmur of gossip and laughter. These sounds she knew, yet she could not orient herself from them.

In short, Liz had no fucking idea where on God's green Earth she was, or how she got there.

Her eyes opened reluctantly and she groaned. She lay on a cot in a small, dark tent. A wooden chest stood to the side, and an unlit lantern sat atop it. Immediately to her left, a barrel served as a nightstand. _Huh._

A shaft of dazzling light fell through the gap between canvas flaps at her feet, and Liz winced at its brightness. Her head was pounding and her limbs heavy. She felt as though she had been asleep for a long time, but not in a nice, restful way; it was the kind of oversleeping that leaves your eyes sore and your throat dry.

She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and let out a loud curse when white-hot pain lanced through her left shoulder. Liz gritted her teeth against it, cradling her now useless arm in her lap. The pain passed after a moment, and, looking down, she noticed that her clothes had been changed. The blue skirt was too short, and the blouse was clearly intended for a girl more buxom than she. She carefully examined her shoulder with her uninjured hand, and found it bound and packed tightly with gauze and bandages. Liz sat up gingerly, squirming at the thought of somebody changing her clothes and seeing her so... vulnerable. Her black curls hung loose and dirty around her shoulders and she pushed them back, her fingers skimming over thick knots in her hair. Absently, she picked apart some of the larger tangles, and pondered her situation. 

Liz's brow wrinkled as she attempted to recall what exactly had brought her here. Wherever _here _was. 

Images and sounds flitted about, mixing and matching up, and her frown grew more pronounced as she strained to remember each detail. In her head, she saw shadows passing over scorched ground from horseback, and heard an argument in low, angry voices between the other riders. She had arrived at a camp lit dimly by warm fires and lamps at night, and had looked blankly through the haze of blood loss at unfamiliar, guarded faces. Liz remembered the feeling of being lifted by calloused hands and laid down somewhere dark. Liz remembered the agony with a flinch. It was a level of pain that she had never known before, and she had heard her own screaming.

_It must have been loud_, she figured, but it had sounded to her like it came from the end of a long tunnel.

In the tent, a stern-looking woman had cleaned her and dressed her wounds before she succumbed once more to unconsciousness. Reaching further into the recesses of her mind, clarity burst forward from the dark of half-conscious memory and she understood what had happened to her. Liz replayed the saloon: Arthur, Javier, and Lenny, the standoff with that man, Ruth collapsing, Irina's tear-stained face, and finally, Liz herself knocking Javier over, the bullet piercing her shoulder, flicking her knife into the man's throat. Arthur, Javier and Lenny must have brought her to where they stayed. But why? They weren't good people. They robbed and killed and robbed again... but then again, so did she. At least she'd never killed anyone.

Unwelcome, a blurred picture of Whitty sidled in: him gagging on redness, crimson liquid _(blood it was blood blood everywhere)_ seeping out from his twitching fingers, desperately trying to hold back the tide of life spilling from his gullet. Liz's hand drifted to her own throat and she swallowed hard. _He deserved it,_ she thought resolutely, fighting against the guilt. _Deep breaths, Liz. _

She inhaled, then exhaled slowly. _He deserved it._

Was she a good person?

The tent flaps were suddenly yanked open and she was yanked from her reverie. The stern lady who had treated her shoulder bustled in. Light flooded the tent and Liz's head throbbed more painfully.

"Good, you're finally awake!"

Liz blinked.

The woman swept over to her side and began poking and prodding at the dressing on her shoulder while Liz stared, trying to find something to say.

"It's healing nicely." The woman stood upright again, facing Liz. "Won't be long 'til it's back to normal. Ya hit your head pretty hard at one point, too- woke up two days ago terrified of everyone. Screamin' like a banshee and fightin' like a street cat."

Right. Liz worked her tongue around her dry mouth, overwhelmed by awkwardness. She cleared her throat and tested her voice:

"How... how long was I out?"

The lady considered this. " 'Maybe four, five days. You were in and out, but there was no response. Had an infection of some kind and we thought for sure you were a goner" she informed her. "Looks like we were wrong."

_Five days. Holy shit._

The woman indicated to herself. "Susan Grimshaw. Have ya got a name?"

Liz nodded.

She sighed. "Cat got your tongue? Spit it out, girl."

"Duval," Liz finally said. "I'm Elizabeth Duval. And thank you for helping me. I... I owe you."

She waved a hand dismissively in response. "Nonsense. You're not the first. Now tell me, Miss Duval, how long will you be staying with us, and what work will ya do? If you stay, you have to pull your weight. I do not tolerate laziness."

Questions jostled about in Liz's head, and the first one popped out.

"Who's _us_?"

"Come with me, then." Susan gripped her good arm and helped Liz up off the cot. "I'll introduce you."

Liz limped after Miss Grimshaw into the sunlight, the brightness poking at her sore head. She was stiff and achy, but alert as she took in her new surroundings for the second time. _I'm still alive. That's what matters. _Looking around, Liz realised that she could now place what she had heard in her daze. She stood outside a narrow grey tent on the fringe of a colourful, busy gathering of caravans, fires and other tents in a grassy clearing. The sky was open and blue, framed by trees and the bare rock of the Heartlands. Liz breathed the sweet air greedily, glad to escape the stench of alcohol and sheep dung. People milled about left and right, chores and conversations playing out before her.

"Well? Are you gonna stand there and watch the day go by or let me introduce you to the people who agreed to save your life?" Grimshaw demanded.

Liz was suitably mollified (a rare experience) and shuffled benignly after the force of nature directing her to the centre of the camp. A much grander white tent stood proudly there and Liz recognised it as the source of the grainy music. Just outside, a well-dressed man stood, back turned, smoking a cigar and looking into the middle distance as though contemplating the enigma of human existence. Or so it appeared to Liz, at least. 

"Dutch?" Miss Grimshaw asked. "Someone here to talk to you."

"Of course, Miss Grimshaw." He turned around and gave Liz a quick once-over. He had a look in his eye that set her teeth on edge; not hostile, but shrewd. Cunning.

"Good afternoon, ma'am." His voice was deep, unctuous. It wasn't the kind you'd forget in a hurry. "I don't believe we've met, Miss...?"

"Elizabeth. You're Dutch van der Linde."

His eyes seemed to bore into her, and his tone grew cooler. "I am."

"An infamous criminal. A gang lord."

"Yes," he replied. "Will that be a problem?"

The way he said _will that be a problem _was calm and offhand. What he actually said was _will you be a problem, _and Liz understood immediately.

"No" she replied. "I've had a few too many of my own in the past."

The tension broke and Dutch chuckled, taking another drag of his cigar. 

"I understand completely, Miss Elizabeth. It is a hard, unforgiving world out there for the young and disenchanted."

Liz grinned. "Even at thirty."

"Thirty?" Dutch appeared genuinely shocked. "This... this could be an excellent business opportunity, for the both of us. Tell me, miss, what do you plan to do when you recover?"

"Well, I was gonna go back to Valentine, keep robbin' drunken bastards blind, but.." She trailed off. "When I met some'a your boys in the saloon, things went south, went south real fast. I- I killed a fella."

He nodded, eyes wandering like he was thinking hard. "In a bad way. Young Lenny told me he laid hands on you and your folks."

"He did." Liz's hands shook at her sides. "And I think he deserved it. Well maybe he didn't, I don' know, but I can't go back to workin' there. I... I can't" she finished lamely.

"Well, my dear," Dutch said, putting a hand on her good shoulder, "it looks like you're stuck with us- for the moment, at least," he added. "I need to talk to old Hosea."

Liz agreed, despite not knowing who that was. "Right."

Dutch started. "Of course, you should get settled right away. I'll get- where is that boy? Lenny!" he called.

Lenny's dark head appeared from behind a mare he was grooming, and he jogged over. 

"Lenny here-" he patted Lenny's arm, "-will show you around."

And with that, Dutch strolled away, calling for Hosea and leaving her at Lenny's mercy. 

She faced Lenny. He seemed a good enough man, from what she had seen of him. Selfless, but maybe a little rash. And so very young to live the life of an outlaw. She and her friends owed him their lives, and she admired that flash of courage she had seen when he tackled Whitty. His compassion when he went to help the girls. Maybe she'd say that to him sometime, thank him for what he had done. But for now, she was too jittery, too full of anticipation to be honest. Lenny looked back at her with a serious expression and Liz braced herself.

"That was a real brave thing to do, what you did," he told her. "You could've just let Javier die. But you didn't. He- we owe you."

Liz gave an awkward, one sided shrug. "It wasn' a problem."

"Wasn't a problem?" Lenny said incredulously. "You got _shot!_"

"What's wrong with that?," she demanded, suddenly defensive. "What was I gonna do, let him die?"

"You could've."

"You're right." She sighed. "I don' know why I did it."

Lenny grinned at her, his teeth white in the bright afternoon sun. "Maybe you're a good person."

"Perish the very thought, Mr Summers!" Liz gasped, clutching at her chest in a mockery of offence. Lenny snorted, shaking his head at her theatrics, and Liz found herself smiling in response. "I would hope that good people are not like me."

They began to amble around the camp, and Lenny explained the various chores that usually needed doing, and who slept where, and what there was to do to pass the time. Lenny was amiable, easy to talk to, and Liz found herself chatting more easily to him than she had to anyone in a long time.

She met more people. The group of women she had heard singing were Tilly, Mary-Beth and Karen, and they were all warm and welcoming. Tilly was bright and spunky, Mary-Beth sweet and loving, and Karen was as witty and caustic a woman as Liz had met in a while. However, Liz also knew these women were outlaws and well versed in their trade. Deceptive appearances seemed to be a popular theme of Dutch's, so she had no doubt that they were formidable as well as being friendly.

Another woman she had seen hovering around Dutch's tent was stately and beautiful Molly O'Shea, and she had "two dry sticks stuck in her ass" according to Karen because of her high society aspirations. Liz greeted her as she had everyone else, but was met with barely a "Hey" in response. Lenny shrugged, told her it was typical. Lenny introduced her to Abigail and little Jack. Liz felt a surge of respect and sympathy for Abigail, deciding that she would support her in any way possible... because the person she met next was John Marston, and Liz saw that he could not have had less interest in being a father. He was gruff and short with everyone, apparently, but it took a toll on Jack from time to time. They tried their best to do right by him together, Lenny told her once they had moved away, but like every young boy, he needed his father.

"He looks up to Arthur, though," Lenny noted. "since him an' Hosea read with him sometimes, or go fishin', or let them play when he wants, that kind a' stuff."

Liz frowned. "That's not their job."

"I know," he sighed. "But John won't do it."

He went on to tell her a little of what he knew of the gang's history- in the beginning, it was just Dutch, Hosea and Arthur, almost twenty years ago. They had taken Arthur, and later John, in and raised them, taught them to read and write and ride and shoot. It sounded like a tough environment to grow up in, and Liz realised that she had guessed Arthur's adolescence correctly all those nights ago in the saloon. He told her as much as he could about the various gang members she hadn't met yet, like Sadie, Charles, Bill, and Micah. His lip curled oddly on the last name, but Liz deigned not to ask. Lenny then tried to explain some of what had brought them this far east, into the Heartlands. Liz was bemused.

"Wait a minute." Liz demanded, walking just ahead of Lenny and turning to face him. "I thought the _plan_ was 'virgin land in the West'?"

"Didn't turn out that way," Lenny said darkly, "not after Blackwater."

"So you _did_ have somethin' to do with what happened in Blackwater..." she murmured. "I wasn't wrong."

"Is that really somethin' to be proud of? Lookin' back on everythin' that came out of you bein' right?"

Liz reconsidered. She _had_ been shot, and her friends had been terrified for their lives. "Probably not. Can you- can you tell me about Blackwater?"

He went on to tell her all about some kind of botched ferry job, how it had gone horribly wrong and they had had to run, run far and run fast. With a shiver, he recounted the weeks running north to Ambarino, finding shelter in Colter, the freezing nights and the deaths of some gang members. An Irish lad called Seán had been abducted, and nobody knew if he was alive or dead. Lenny said Dutch had killed an unarmed girl "in a bad, bad way", and the resulting shootout with the Blackwater constabulary and the Pinkertons had flushed them clear out of West Elizabeth, leading to their trek up the mountains and the harsh early spring blizzards. To Liz, it all seemed ambiguous, hard to follow.

"You don' know what really happened?"

Lenny shrugged. "I still don't understand how it went so wrong so fast. I think someone ratted us out, but I don't know who here would do that. Javier was the only one who saw Dutch kill that girl, but he won't talk about it."

"Was everyone there?"

"Naw, Hosea and Arthur were on some other game."

She had noticed an older fellow, reading at a table, grey hair glinting in the sun, and she assumed that this was Hosea. From what Lenny had told her about him, he was a source of stability in the camp. He was wise, Lenny said, kind, smart as a whip, a natural conman, and a herbalist to boot. Liz recognised this; clearly, Dutch needed a calmer, more rational force to balance him. If he was the kind to lash out, like how he executed that girl, he needed reason and logic.

They were sitting on a bench next to a low fire under the early evening sky, the birds chattering noisily in the trees against the last light of the afternoon. The fire crackled near where the horses swished their tails and grazed, when the breeze picked up again, bringing more early-summer heat and warming Liz's bones. She shuddered against it, and once more relished the scenery around her.

"This feels amazin'," she mumbled. "no bar, check. No drunk, dull an' stupid men? Check. No stench of sheep shit an' cow piss? Check, check, _check."_

"I only ever been in that saloon one time," he said, staring off somewhere she couldn't see, "but that was... enough for me." 

"God, I hated that fuckin' place." Liz's eyes glazed over, and a torrent of dark memories flooded her mind. She pursed her lips, looking down at her feet in the swaying grass. "I ain't been shot before, but the people there, even the women- they- they weren' exactly polite."

She was silent for a moment, reflecting.

"I thought civilised ladies weren't ones for cussing," Lenny joked, nudging her in the ribs and shaking her from the past.

Liz laughed uproariously, doubling over with the force of it. "Civilised? I- Sir, I'm a former prostitute."

"That ain't an excuse." He grinned. "You sure are louder and nosier than I expected."

"What were you expectin'?" Liz asked, genuinely curious. The light wind made the fire spark and spit, and Liz's hair was stirred up by it like some wild black halo.

"Less trouble. Some manners.. a lady with grace, maybe."

Miss Grimshaw swept over then before she could punch him, and checked Liz's bandages. She frowned, poking and prodding at the dressing, and smacking Liz's hand away when she tried to loosen them. 

"Do you _want_ another infection, girl?" she chided, and Liz hid a smile.

"Can I do anythin' to help out?" she asked suddenly. She felt strangely nervous as she said this. "I just... Y'all have done so much for me so far and I want to do what I can."

"Of course, Miss Duval," Grimshaw said, thawing immediately. "Once that arm is healed, we can get you workin' right away."

Liz frowned. "How much longer do you think it'll take?"

"Three weeks for it to be back to normal. Less if you ain't stupid about it. You're lucky it was a clean shot."

_Three weeks? _Liz blanched. She couldn't sit around for two weeks. Sitting around meant thinking, and thinking meant bad things. Sitting around would cause the guilt she felt to swallow her whole. It would make her isolate herself. She looked around the camp.

She couldn't do that.

"Wait!" Liz exclaimed as Grimshaw went to leave. "Pardon me, I mean- is there anythin' to do in the meantime?" 

Miss Grimshaw folded her arms and regarded Liz. "I suppose some light chores won't kill you..."

"Thank you," Liz sighed in relief.

"Of course," she responded, already striding away.

Lenny was laughing again and Liz looked at him, bemused.

"You're gonna regret askin' Grimshaw for work," he chuckled, and Liz glared. 

She could do work. She could do normal, ordinary chores. No robbing. It wouldn't be a problem.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's kicking off lads! sorry the wait for this one was so long; I've been really busy/tussling with a healthy dose of Home Brand Writer' Block. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait! As always, leave a comment/kudos or constructive criticism and lmk what you think. 
> 
> much love, hiberniaa xxx


	5. A Teenager's Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz is slowly but surely settling into life at Horseshoe Overlook, and slowly but surely becoming irritated by it at the same time. It takes a brief conversation to give her an idea.  
Now to see where it may lead her.

Liz dropped onto a crate next to Karen in front of the spitting fire, cradling her bowl of Pearson's slop in her good arm. Week three of Horseshoe Overlook and hell, was she sick of doing one-armed laundry. She was also getting very, very sick of the clear dislike many members of the gang seemed to have for her.

Sure, she was a blow-in, but did they really hate newcomers that much? She was hardly going to report them all, and by extension, herself, for murder and robbery. It wasn't her race, her gender or her age, it seemed- they just didn't like her all that much as a person. Yet.

Liz couldn't figure out whether that was better or worse than the gang being racist.

_Probably better_, she scowled to herself. _A little_.

"I don' know how much longer I can tolerate these bastards, Karen," she muttered darkly, spooning up a piping hot mouthful of 'whatever-Arthur-found-in-the-woods' stew.

Speaking of the man himself, Liz had hardly seen him around for the past week or more. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to thank him for what he had done. There was no need for him to help her, but he chose to anyway. Liz frowned, trying to get her teeth around a particularly gristly chunk of... was it boar?

"Me neither," Karen grunted, slugging from a bottle of whiskey, "feel like some mornin' I might just wake up and shoot every fucker here."

"Hey." Liz pointed her spoon, accusatory. "Where'd ya get that?"

Karen grinned. "None'a your business."

Liz grimaced, then spat a bone into the bushes behind her.

"_Bleugh_. Christ, you'd think a navy cook'd be able to... I dunno, _cook?_" Liz grumbled. "Seriously, how Pearson manages to turn any food into what tastes like and looks like old boot is beyond me."

"You get used to it," Lenny said, sitting on a log to Liz's left. "How y'all doin'?"

"Not so bad," Liz gestured to her shoulder. "Can't wait to have my damn arm back."

"Careful what ya wish for. Two arms means twice as much work," Karen said, "so drag that bullet hole out for as long as it's worth."

Liz frowned again, chewing another spoonful. "Y're prob'ly righ'," she said through the stew. She swallowed. "I just need to get out. Do somethin'. Rob someone. I don't know." 

She gulped the last of the stew down, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Froze. Lenny was staring at her, his face a mask of revulsion.

"That was disgusting," he stated. 

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry," Liz mocked, " I'd like to see you eat this shit all neat an' ladylike with one arm."

Karen snorted, swigging her whiskey.

"Bet I'd do a better job than you, any day." Lenny challenged Liz, folding his arms.

"Sure," Liz chortled. "You'd make a mighty fine woman, Lenny."

The fire crackled, sending a plume of sparks into the sky. Miss Grimshaw appeared somewhere nearby and Karen spotted her, quickly taking off with the whiskey to finish whatever chore she was meant to be doing, before she got her head taken off. Kieran, that O'Driscoll lad, called Lenny over for a hand with one of the mares. He bid her goodbye and left to help Kieran, leaving Liz by herself. She didn't mind all that much.

She got up, put her bowl and the spoon back near the pot, gazing around the camp. It was a beautiful late afternoon, the golden sun streaming through breaks in the trees and illuminating their small clearing. She stood there for a moment, appreciative, before her thoughts were broken by a familiar voice.

"Should I ask what all that was about?"

Liz turned. There, leaning on a nearby sapling, was Arthur. Liz nodded to him in greeting. 

"What'd'you mean, 'all that'?" she asked, playing with her bracelet.

He stepped closer, shrugged. "You seem close with young Lenny."

"Guess I am," Liz said. "He's a good kid. Funny."

"That he sure is." 

Liz scoffed. "What- Arthur, what is that look on your face about?"

He shrugged, resting his hands on his gunbelt. "Nothin'." 

"Is this about my bein' nice to Lenny?" she said. He just shrugged again. 

"Arthur, no!" she hissed, stepping closer to slap him. "It ain't like that an' you know it!"

He dodged easily. She glared, and he relented. 

"Fine, fine," he said, "but you could do worse than Lenny." 

"I'm thirty, he's barely nineteen!" she said, aghast. "I couldn't- he's a young boy! Where'd you even get that idea from?"

"He seems to like you an awful lot, unlike some of these idiots."

"Then he has sense. And good taste." Liz folded her arms. "It ain't that way."

"If you say so, then I believe you," Arthur dismissed. "How you been?"

Liz sighed, letting it go. "Doin' alright. Tired of the damn chores and Grimshaw breathin' down my neck, but I'm fine."

"Tired of it already?" Arthur smiled wryly. "You ain't gonna live to see winter at this rate."

"Oh, I'll live alright. One-armed miracle, I am," she said, and he gave a brief chuckle.

"Where've you been for the past couple days, then?"

"Around," Arthur said, not looking her in the face. "I, uh, ran into some old friends."

Liz nodded. Of course he had been away- she remembered now. He had received a letter, then taken off in a frightful hurry. Mary-Beth had told her all about Arthur's former fiancée, Mary Linton. 

-

"Mary Gillis she was, when they all knew her," Mary-beth said one rainy night last week, blue eyes glinting in the glow of her lantern. She and Liz were lying on blankets, whiling away the hours before dawn. 

"I wasn't around back then, but I've heard she was quite the lady. Rich daughter of some businessman or other, desperate to escape her daddy plannin' her life out, runnin' away with a young outlaw. Oh, it was all so _romantic..._" she trailed off dreamily.

Liz had leaned forward, eager to hear more, to understand the gang more, to see what had made Arthur thunder off like he had. She could see every freckle on Mary-Beth's face, and it made her insides twist strangely. 

"What happened?" she asked.

Mary-beth's face fell. "Then she left him."

"But why? Weren't they in love, or somethin'?"

"Oh yeah, they sure were," she said, picking at the blanket she was sprawled over, her honey hair spilling around her shoulders. 

"But she knew the life Arthur lead- the life we all lead now- and she couldn't do it. Couldn't throw everythin' pretty and nice away to come live in the muck with us beggars and thieves."

Liz shook her head, stunned. 

"Apparently she explained it all in a letter then ran off to marry some other rich bastard, and took the damn ring too," Mary-beth spat, showing Liz exactly how much she thought of Mary.

"She became Mrs _Linton_ and moved far away. Said she couldn't break her daddy's heart by marryin' a criminal, so she broke Arthur's instead. Hosea says he nearly drank himself to death after, blind and dumb with it every hour of the day to cope."

They were silent for a moment, listening to the drops hitting the canvas over their heads. 

"Mary-beth, I..." Liz swallowed hard, bracing herself. "I kind of understand."

"What, was there some part ya missed?" Mary-beth giggled.

Liz sighed. "No, I mean I kind of understand Mary."

"_What?_" she exclaimed. "You- why?"

Liz's fingers went to her bracelet, and she fixed her gaze on it to avoid looking Mary-beth in the eyes.

"Well, think about it. If you wanted to marry some fella but you had to leave the gang to do it, you had to go tell Hosea and Dutch you were leavin', could you do it? Could you watch them be disappointed and mad at you? Could you leave behind everyone you know and love...could you give it all up?"

Mary-beth hesitated, considering. When her nose scrunched up, her freckles did too. Liz tried her best not to notice. 

"I guess... I guess I would find it really, really hard," she replied slowly. "I don't know if I could."

"You see?" Liz said. "It can't a' been easy."

Mary-Beth rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. But I still hate the bitch."

-

"How was she?" Liz asked knowingly.

Arthur seemed taken aback, but answered nonetheless.

"She wanted help with that brother of hers. Just a silly kid, got himself mixed up in somethin' he didn' understand 'cos he was scared. I got him back alright. She was happy," he said.

"Huh. What about that husband of hers?" 

"Pneumonia. Died a few months back." He cleared his throat. "How much do you know?"

"No fine details, if that's what you're askin'."

"The girls told you," he said flatly.

Liz smiled despite herself. "That they did," she admitted.

Arthur tipped his hat, made to walk off before Liz stopped him, hand on his shoulder. He looked at her oddly.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I never thanked you. For helpin' me. You didn' have to, but you did."

"So, um, yeah." She released her grip on his shoulder.

He peered at her again, then- "You don' have to thank me. I wasn' gonna leave ya there to bleed. You did a good thing, helpin' him like that after we was so..."

"Rude?"

Arthur shrugged. 

"Well, thank you all the same. Where is Javier, anyway? He alright?"

"He's fine, he's out with Charles. We're tryin' to find Sean."

"Wait, ain't he in Blackwater?" she asked, puzzled. Arthur groaned, rubbed the stubble on his jaw. 

"You know 'bout that, too?"

She shrugged. "Not a lot."

"I'm gonna kill Lenny," he muttered. "Yes, we think he's still there, and we gotta go get him."

"From there? With all the Pinkertons round?"

"Just how much did that boy tell you?" Arthur exclaimed. "Yeah, that's the idea, gettin' him back here safe before he swings. Jesus."

Liz chewed her lip. She hadn't thought the law would hang him.

"But you ain't goin' today," she said, almost to herself. "You'll need ammunition, and you ain't got none in for the last week, so you need money, so..."

"What?"

"Nothin'," she said, an idea already forming in her head.

If she got a job now, Liz could help get the money together to get Sean back, and thus prove she could be trusted. Less chores, more practical work, and she might even get some of the gang to tolerate her. Liz thought of Bill Williamson, who just that morning couldn't stand near her without looking at her like she dragged in dog shit.

_Sounds like a plan to me._

"I- I think I gotta go talk to Dutch. I'll see ya round, Morgan."

He was still looking at her suspiciously , but then seemed to let it go.

"Okay, I'll catch you later then," he responded, but Liz was already marching away determined towards Dutch's tent.

"One-armed miracle, alright," he said under his breath.

Arthur leaned on the sapling once more, striking a match on his boot and lighting a cigarette. Thin grey smoke issued from the end, wafting upwards and dissipating into the blue above. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh it's been so long since I last updated I'M SO SORRY  
I've Been Busy... but I'm getting back on it, guys. also.. happy 2020!
> 
> as ever, comment/kudos, lmk what you think.. I live to see that shit y'all.  
much love,  
hiberniaa xx


	6. Mr and Mrs Craw.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz goes to Dutch with her ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! fuck yeah it's 2020!!  
hahaaaaa previous a/ns seem really confusing? That's Because I Edit Constantly Rather Than Publishing, Babey!  
Anyhow, here's the latest chapter. Hopefully we'll see our boys and gals get into some good old fashioned lawbreaking soon enough ;-)

Dutch van der Linde observed the workings of Horseshoe Overlook, thinking deeply as he so often did. Cigar in his mouth, that brow set in a hard line of concentration. Always planning, always scheming, always one step ahead- that was Dutch, through and through.

Lately, though, it seemed that his trademarked quick thinking, endless improvisation and God-given supply of luck had run dry. Fast. The gang escaped those damn mountains mostly unscathed, but the body count was still too high for Dutch to rest easy.

His worries for the future of his gang, his guilt over untimely deaths among them, the fear of the law despite what he said about their blind arrogance; it all weighed heavy on him, clogged his mind and mixed up his thoughts. Made it hard to see, see _clearly_ what to do when he needed to. Maybe more than he ever had needed to.

The noose was tightening, sure, but with some money, some luck, a prayer, and that faith he told his friends to hold tight to above all else, they would be gone before the knot closed and the gallows welcomed them all.

Dutch exhaled, releasing greyness and tobacco ash with a sigh. He was feeling very morbid lately, and in need of a damn win. Not just for himself, for the whole gang.

He saw the faces of his friends, his accomplices - his _family_\- and knew that despite what they told him, they too still fretted over the idea of their mistakes catching up to them. The future had never appeared so uncertain, so threatening before, and it disillusioned them. Frightened them.

They looked to Dutch for leadership. His eyes narrowed against the bright sun. For hope.

He only prayed he could continue to be their guide, for everyone's sake. 

"Mr Van der Linde? May I speak with you a moment?" came a clear voice.

Dutch blinked, cleared his throat. In front of him stood their newest companion... what was she called? Libby? Leah?

She played with a small chain on her wrist. "I have an offer to make."

Elizabeth. That was her name. 

"Of course, Miss Duval," he responded, stepping into the shade of the tent. "Come in."

He held the canvas aside and she strode in. The sounds of the camp outside were muted slightly, and out of the glaring sun they could see one another more clearly.

Dutch took a seat on a crate behind him, then gestured to the camp bed. 

"Please, sit." She did so, with her back straight and her head high. "What was it you wanted to offer me?"

"Well," Duval began, "I've heard a little of what the gang's future plans are, and how we need money to accomplish them or else we ain't goin' nowhere. I have also heard a little 'bout... recent events."

Dutch's face darkened. "Go on."

"Y'all came outta those mountains with nothing, and if you want Sean back, if you want to set about them plans, then ya need cash fast."

"I am aware," he replied coolly.

Duval got up, began to pace and gesture as she spoke.

"Mister Van der Linde, on my first day here you thought I was real young, an' you said it could be a decent business opportunity, right?" He nodded, watching her cross the floor over and back, over and back.

"I think I could help you all get the money you need. Quick an' quiet, a neat con. No guns, no mess, no fuss and hopefully-" She looked at him, the ghost of a smirk on her lips- "no lawmen."

Dutch sat forward. "I'm listening. Get to the point, Miss Duval."

"Right. Well, there's a woman, name of Francine Craw. She's recently widowed up in Big Valley. An heiress. Her husband, Joseph Craw, was big news in the sugar business. Mr Craw was rich with dirty money- he dealt under the table all the time an' stored that rotten earnin' in their house so the taxman couldn't get it."

"Francine never noticed a thing. She's had a sheltered life, thought her husband was the second coming of the Lord. I reckon she's gullible, alright, and she's always lookin' for more house staff," the woman ranted. "So I say we get her staff, and see if we can't liberate her of some a' that money."

"I see where you're goin' with this, Elizabeth. A most interestin' prospect. Where'd you learn of it?"

She smiled briefly, then continued. "An old friend of mine, Eddie, usedta work for Francine. She told me 'bout it. She's a- she's coloured, like me, and Joseph's family came from a long line of slavers. So the bastard hated her, but he was a little too fond of her too. He was entitled, didn't like hearin' _no_ or takin' it for an answer, if you get my meanin', Mister Van der Linde." 

Duval's fists clenched as she concluded her tale. "And Francine found out about his little _fun_ with Eddie. What'd she do? Oh, she screamed and hooted and howled 'bout Eddie bein' a homewrecker and a slut. She threw her out the house and that forced her into whoring, like me. Poor Eddie couldn't do it. She weren't able for the life we lead. I tried to help her, but..."

Her voice trailed off. Dutch stood, put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"So not only is the old bitch rich and dumb enough to rob," Liz said, "but she's got it comin', too. It'd help the gang, and I'd be exactin' just a bit of justice on behalf of old Eddie."

"The house, it's a manor in Big Valley?" Dutch asked, mulling the idea over.

"Yes. Loadsa land. I think it's pre-war."

"Hmm." He would have to consult with Hosea first, of course, but this- this could be just what the gang needed. "I know the one."

Dutch produced more cigars, offered one to Duval. She declined. "What d'ya say?"

He lit a cigar and considered the woman in front of him. She was... interesting. Dutch inhaled ash, looked her in the eyes. 

"We will discuss this issue further later. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Duval. You are a great addition to the family, it would seem."

"Thank you."

She exited the tent, back into the warmth of the afternoon, and Dutch was left alone with his thoughts again. Only he had something new to think on now. A plan, at _last_.


	7. Ashes, Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream, and some backstory.

_A man, gagging on scarlet gushing, flooding from between his lips, her fault, her fault-_

_ A woman, out of sight, sobbing, heartbroken, hurt deeply by someone unseen, but she is all alone-_

_Eyes, eyes everywhere, what do they see, can they see her? Do they know what she did? Searching for the mark, the mistake, the wrongness-_

_ Then finally, a reprieve. A good memory, a warm memory thought slightly bittersweet, just like that citrus peel cake she made when Liz was young. _

_"Don't take too long, mija, you know I miss you when you're gone." _

_"I'll always be here, mi cielito."_

** _"Always."_ **

Liz sat bolt upright, panting. She scrambled up from her bedroll to lean on a post holding up the tent's roof, gasping for breaths that didn't want to come. Next to the bedroll, Tilly turned over in her sleep, Liz's tossing going unnoticed.

She raised a trembling hand, wiped at the sweat that soaked her face, her neck, her hair, and realised she was crying. It shook her; Liz didn't know the last time she had a nightmare so vivid. Didn't know the last time she had cried, _really_ cried, with sore ribs and a snotty nose, the kind of crying that left you with a pounding head and knocked you out for hours.

Liz sank to the ground and held herself around the middle, forcing the tears to subside. She had heard her mother in her dream.

Her smart, sweet mother, who loved Liz's father, and Liz's father loved her. They met young, a hardworking, handsome black man without a care in the world, and a beautiful Mexican lady with a sharp tongue and a warm heart. They fell in love mere weeks after meeting, a chance coincidence in some dried-up town near the border.

They never married, but still wanted the dream of married life, a place somewhere safe and pleasant to raise the child her mother was already carrying. Between jobs in gardens and in kitchens and laundries and ranches, they got the money for a lovely stone house up the country, in a real nice place. Tall Trees, actually.

Liz remembered that house- her _home_\- so well. It was a small, ramshackle place, sure, but they made the best of the life they had. Her mother had a wonderful garden, and it bloomed into sweetness and colour in the summer. She used to pick and dry lavender, collecting it until the whole house smelled of its heavy, sleepy perfume.

She used to.

And then her father left the house in the morning for the last time. He kissed Liz's curls and drank the dregs of his coffee, and then that was that. He never came home. He worked at a ranch an hour's ride out, took their horse to go to work every day.

Liz sniffled, knuckling her eyes and shuddering. He taught her to ride on that horse. 

It was found a day later, collapsed on the side of a road miles away from home, having bled out from a shot to the stomach. Her father's corpse lay a few feet away, dumped hastily by thieves under a yew tree, pockets emptied before they put a bullet between his eyes. They hightailed it. Never to be caught, prosecuted, punished.

The law were the ones who told her the truth about what happened to her father, some bitter night a few hours before dawn. Liz clutched at her mother's legs, peering around her body at uncaring men taking off their hats to explain the murder of the best man she'd ever known to them. 

They promised her, kneeling down to look her in the eyes while she tugged at her unresponsive mother's robe, that they'd find the bad men who hurt her daddy.

Of course they didn't, Liz reflected bitterly. He was a lone black man. They didn't care. Her father wasn't the kind of person the law was upheld for.

Her mother was never the same after that. She checked out completely, leaving Liz to raise herself while their money dwindled. It wasn't her fault, of course; her mother had always been delicate, and her father's murder was just too much for her.

But that didn't stop Liz from praying fervently every night, hands strangled by rosary beads, that her mother would come back to her. She was too confused and hazy to understand that Liz left every day to make money. She flitted about the house like a ghost, frail and white as a spiderweb.

On the good days, shortly after her father's death, she would get up and open the curtains with a swish, snuggle with Liz in the bed, bake bread for them to share with a rare treat of honey, smiling conspiratorially: _"Don't tell your father!" _

And Liz's heart would sink, but she would wink back at her mother so as not to upset her. The day would drag on, with little Liz forced to watch her mother grow more sad and frightened as the sun began to sink, wondering where her husband was.

Waiting for him to come home. Pleading with him, sobbing brokenhearted into the dark while Liz tried to sleep upstairs. Tried not to hear, tried to muffle the cries that mirrored her mother's. 

_¡No puedo hacer esto solo! Por favor, mi corazon, no me dejes!_

Liz shook her head, emptying it of her mother's wails. A breath escaped from between her trembling lips, the tears having finally abated. Liz had not dreamed of nor thought of her mother in a long time. She died years ago, the house was sold, and Liz moved on. 

She stretched her cramped legs, releasing a small pop from her neck when she rolled it. Contemplating getting back into bed, Liz stood again, putting her feet on the grassy ground, letting the cool dampness between her toes. It felt good. Reminded her that she was here, Horseshoe Overlook, not in the past. And she'd never be in the past again.

A soft flickering caught her eye and she looked in its direction. A fire still burned low, embers mostly, but it called to her, promising warmth and company. Liz ambled over, taking a seat on the log next to it, holding her hands near the red glow. She fumbled behind her, face screwed up, searching for something. Her fingers brushed a chunk of wood and she dusted it off, tossing it into the flames. It crackled and spat before catching. 

Liz brushed her sleep-mussed hair away from her eyes. Worked her fingers through the knots and stared at the light, too tired to think anymore. She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, too asleep to be truly awake, before she heard a twig snap from within the blackness of camp. 

It was Hosea. The older man came into view, the wrinkles in his face deepened and multiplied by the light of the fire and the darkness of night. It appeared for a moment that he was made of wood, each line having been carved painstakingly by hand, the deepest being the divot of worry between his thick brows. He sat, carefully, and grunted as he did. Liz wondered if she would sit the same way he did when- no, _if_ she made it to his age. 

They sat there in the stillness of the early morning, when everything is silent and deeply asleep, when dawn and the day's work are still hours away. The fire crackled, the only sound to break the spell cast by the setting sun.

"What's keeping you awake?" he asked, finally.

Liz looked him in the eyes. This was the first real conversation she had with Hosea, and she realised that she was so tired she could hardly speak, much less lie about why she was up. 

"I had a dream," she replied honestly, "about my mother."

"I see." A lone coyote called somewhere miles away, and another yipped in response. "And your mother is-?"

"Dead. Died years ago. Don't know why I keep seein' her when I fall asleep."

"Sometimes," Hosea said, "our dreams are our own messages to ourselves. What was it like?"

She sighed, considering how best to describe it.

"Sad. It started out horrible... I saw the most awful things, things I ain't remembered in a long time. I saw-" she swallowed hard. "I saw that man I killed. Whitty. In Valentine. I know he deserved what he got but I still can't stop seein' him there, bleedin'."

Hosea did not respond, merely inclined his head and held eye contact. Liz liked that he did not interject, did not try to judge, to offer advice. He simply let her speak. A lump rose unbidden to her throat once more, and she cleared her throat in shame of it. 

"It's alright," he reassured, seeing her distress. "Keep talking."

The tears stung her eyes, and part of her wanted to childishly cross her arms and go mute, storm off and fall asleep and not discuss this any further, for she barely had the energy to keep her eyes open, and feared that baring her sorrow to someone else might crack her wide open. Like she'd never be fixed again.

Liz swallowed hard. "Then... then I heard my mother. I woke myself up, cryin' like a kid over my dead mama and her _goddamn lemon cake-_" Her voice cracked, and she hugged herself with her arms.

"And suddenly I was rememberin' all this stuff I haven't in so long, like how my father died, and my mama... she weren't right ever again," Liz's voice was hollow, frightened. 

Hosea tactfully looked at down at his hands where they rested on his knees, giving Liz a second to compose herself.

"I guess," she said slowly, "I guess I forgot why I ever started doin' what I did. For my mom. Then when she died it just... didn't matter why anymore, just that I was doin' _somethin_' to distract myself. From what, I don' know." 

"Sounds like it was difficult. The mind will push you harder than any problem in real life ever will, and sometimes it brings up stuff we don't ever wanna remember. The stuff we chose to forget."

Liz nodded. Her throat was raw. Needed water.

"I remember when my Bessie left us, all I dreamed of every night was her face. Her hand in mine, us doin' everything we said we would. And every morning I have to wake up and remember that she's gone where I can't follow, even though the dreams stopped years ago. We try to forget things that hurt, Liz, but it doesn't work that way. Never has."

Silence descended once more, but it was comfortable. She felt warmer now, less torn open, less exposed somehow despite having shared her fears.

"I think... I think I needed to remember, Hosea. I got so caught up in survivin', bein' smarter, bein' _better_ than the folk I robbed that I forgot to live how my mama woulda wanted. I want to do more, y'know?" 

She looked at him earnestly, and his aged face softened.

"I do. You ain't so bad, kid."

Liz smiled. It was small, but genuine. Felt like the first one in a long time.

"I spoke to Dutch about your idea. Seems a good one, but requires thought. I like it."

"Thanks."

"There's nothing like the satisfaction of a good con," Hosea stated with such relish that Liz had to laugh. Hosea chuckled, too, and it was this lightness that broke the thick grief that weighed heavy in the air. 

"Mr Matthews."

"Miss Duval."

The bracelet's links were warm between her fingers, and her next words poured out in a nervous rush.

"I want to help with this con. I- I want to do more to help the gang because, well, because I know I owe you all so much and I know I can help, and you need money to get Seán and I-"

Hosea held up a hand and she fell silent immediately. "I don't see any reason why you can't help. I'll have to discuss it with the others, obviously, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"Thank you, Hosea," she breathed, relief flowing over her.

"It is no trouble, none at all" he smiled. "Now, I think it's time for you and I to get what sleep we can, hm?"

He indicated to the brightening sky, and Liz cringed. She'd be getting up in a few hours...

"Goodnight, Liz," Hosea said, standing and brushing off his trousers.

"Goodnight, Hosea," Liz responded softly, walking away from the dying fire and back into the inky shadows towards her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! I know I vanished for ages, I'm truly sorry, but I promise that with quarantine I'll have more time to update :) I hope you enjoy the new chapter and I'll have a fresh one out soon
> 
> as ever, comment/kudos and lmk what you think!  
much love,   
hiberniaa xx


End file.
